


in the desert we will dirty our hands 'til they're clean

by TheRaven



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mild Blood, Rutting, terrible people in a terrible codependent relationship, these two monsters deserve each other and i love it, victor being a creepy lil fucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: They have a routine, Roman and Victor.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	in the desert we will dirty our hands 'til they're clean

**Author's Note:**

> born from the scene at the table where it looks like victor is counting out pills, and the immortal line "he needs me to take care of him."  
> title from cake bake betty's "one by one" because i am terrible at coming up with titles.

They have a routine, Roman and Victor. 

Uppers, carefully administered by the hour during the day and into the evening, depending on Roman’s schedule and his whims. Like clockwork, keeping his energy up with minimal strain on his heart while he conducts his business and indulges in his various hobbies, Victor Zsasz monitoring his vitals throughout like the dutiful caretaker he is.

Less like clockwork but at least once or twice a day, Roman will order his people out of the penthouse and back him into the nearest wall, tearing at Victor’s clothes until he can see all of those beautiful scars. And, well, the pills have certain _side effects_ , and Victor is nothing if not pragmatic. He allows himself to be caged in by his employer’s trembling arms and smiles.

Rutting against him with trousers tangled at his feet and shirt hanging open, Roman Sionis likes to leave bruises where he grips Victor’s arms, shoulders, hips. Likes to run his fingers over the scars, to dig his nails into what little unmarred skin remains. And Victor allows it, runs his own fingers over the faint lines of the arteries and veins in Roman’s neck and his arms and his chest. He thinks about how he could open each one before Roman can even understand what’s happening, and one thumb ghosts over Roman’s windpipe as he throws his head back in savage bliss. Beautiful, vulnerable, almost  _ human. _

Victor eases a hand between their bodies and grasps the base of Roman’s cock, quick and practiced strokes dragging him over the edge into oblivion. As always, his employer has just enough presence of mind to pull away at the last moment, avoiding most of the mess, but the sweat alone will inevitably disgust him when he returns to his senses. He smiles again as Roman’s body goes slack and sated, and he has to lower him gently into the nearest chair lest he collapse on the floor.

While Roman’s body still trembles in the afterglow, Victor cleans off what he can with his discarded shirt and helps his employer to the bathroom, where a quick but luxurious shower will take care of the rest. Depending on his mood, Roman Sionis may or may not demand Victor wring another orgasm from him before they leave, but they do leave eventually, and Roman goes back to business as usual.

And then, when work is done and it’s time to get his beauty sleep, Roman Sionis takes the pills that melt away the tension in his limbs and quiet the incessant chatter in his mind. Naked and languid on the bed, he beckons Victor closer with the same winning smile he uses on soon-to-be business partners, like the cat that ate the canary. And again, Victor obeys, because this is when Roman finally allows him a bit of fun as well.

One slick fingertip nudging past the ring of muscle to slip easily inside, and then a second with only minor resistance. Victor works him open slowly, acutely aware of every shift in his employer’s expression, every twitch of every muscle. His gasps and moans fill the air and his eyelids fall closed as Victor’s fingers curl up against his prostate once, twice, and a third finger carefully works its way in.

Roman probably doesn’t need the third finger, given the state he’s in, but even the smallest twinge of discomfort is liable to send the man into a rage, so Victor doesn’t like to take chances. He continues, fingers thrusting shallowly, scissoring, probing, until Roman finally snaps at him to get on with it already.

Roman Sionis is not a patient man. He does not understand the art of waiting, of _timing_. He simply thunders ahead like a human wrecking ball, flattening anyone too slow to leap out of the way. It has served him well thus far in life, so why would he want to change? He can be coaxed, a little, but the vicious glint in his eyes tells Victor that what little patience he has is wearing thin. He nods, divesting himself of his own clothing, and fetches the little foil packet at the end of the bed with a wolfish grin.

After all, Roman Sionis _abhors_ a mess.

He sinks in easily, with a slight adjustment to the angle of Roman’s hips halfway in. No surprise, given the pills and the prep, but it never fails to make that vicious, hungry heat bloom in his chest. A moment to let Roman catch his breath, and he pulls back slowly, teasing, until Roman wraps his legs around him with a snarl and draws him back in.

Roman sets the pace at first, legs trembling and fingernails digging bloody furrows into Victor’s arms and back. But the burst of energy can’t last long, and soon his arms lay limply on the bed again and his eyelids flutter and he bares his warm, soft throat like a prayer. Victor fucks him slower then, taking in the sight of him and over and over again, he thinks--

_He needs me to take care of him_.

Because he does, doesn’t he? Sprawled out on the bed, utterly defenseless as his carotid arteries pulse gently on either side of his windpipe, he would be easy pickings for any half-baked assassin. Or just anyone with a grudge, for that matter. A bullet in his head, a knife to the throat or between the ribs or a thousand other soft, vulnerable places would end him. Victor could end him, could set him free, if he wanted to.

And he _does_ want to.

Instead, he leans forward until their bodies are nearly flush with one another and he can hear Roman’s heart pounding in his chest. He traces the carotid with his tongue, laving at the soft, flushed skin until Roman makes the most beautiful, desperate whine. And only then does Victor bite hard into the junction of throat and shoulder, warm copper spreading in his mouth, and he smiles against his skin as Roman’s body clenches around him.

_ He needs me.  _

Victor slips an arm under his back and pulls them both upright. 

_ He needs me. _

Roman’s breath is hot against his neck.

_ He needs me. _

Roman’s nails drag across his back again, and with an _Oh, fuck, Victor--_

He comes.

It’s enough to send Victor right after him, gasping and cursing and hips stuttering into him until he’s wrung out and _aching_ in a way he can’t quite name. He lowers Roman onto the bed and pulls out slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort. But for now, Roman Sionis is lost to the world, eyes closed and breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he basks in the afterglow.

And Victor allows himself a moment, _just_ a moment, to collapse onto the bed beside him, watching the staccato rise and fall of Roman’s chest grow slow and even. A moment to clear his head before the mundane and irksome task of cleaning them up. A moment to wonder how Roman Sionis managed to keep himself alive before he had Victor Zsasz.

Though he never sleeps long, Roman sleeps soundly.

Because Victor is there to take care of him.


End file.
